


Crazy For Myself (and For a Hot-Air Balloon)

by hotdogsandpopcorn



Series: Lejindary Shadows [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alec Lightwood Has to be Protected From Hot-Air Balloons, Fluff and Crack, Gen, I did not know that A.R.M.Y.s had their own tag, Kim Namjoon | RM is So Done, Kim Taehyung’s Gucci-Ness Rears Its Head, M/M, MOTS:1 Concert, Magnus Bane has to be Kept Away From Hot-Air Balloons, Malec and Family at Bangtan Concert, That is all, eeeeee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdogsandpopcorn/pseuds/hotdogsandpopcorn
Summary: In which Max Naruto-runs, the uncompromised state of the Shadow World hangs by a very colourful thread, rings are lost and the leader of a world-renowned boyband contemplates people’s affinity for Halloween contacts—specifically, the lizard-eye kind?—in the deep caverns of his mind.Alec Lightwood-Bane deserves afuckingmedal.(And, also, his sons are totally cultists—even if they don’t admit it.)
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood & Max Lightwood-Bane & Rafael Lightwood-Bane, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Lejindary Shadows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060298
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	Crazy For Myself (and For a Hot-Air Balloon)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueflowersandWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueflowersandWings/gifts).



> While I know that gift-giving is quite the lovely statement and people, possibly, know each other for a longer period of time than I have known this particular soul when they hand out gifts to those close to them, I also know that RB has been one of the best supports I could've ever gained here. From our aligned interests and grand venture into philosophical stuff and the lengths to which we write to each other, to all your little quirks and fandom jokes and your wonderful, introspective, loving soul—my _Gods,_ you have been an absolute pleasure to be around.
> 
> I'm grateful for every word you write and every second you spend writing them. Thank you, RB, truly. I don't know if I meet the expectations you have for this Malec-and-Fam-at-Bangtan-Concert fic I hyped you up for (in hindsight, I better start my hyping when I'm actually confident that I can post the thing), but I hope I achieve _something_. So, um, yes. Here we go, then.

“And why am I the one waiting here while you all go get the lightsticks?” Alec demands with a scowl, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ‘Love Yourself’ hoodie. It was either this or the shirt declaring him an ‘INTERNATIONAL PLAYBOY’ in shockingly bold letters, gifted to him by his angelic sons, and Alec is so not ready for that.

“Because, darling,” Magnus says, amused, “you don’t do crowds. And we can’t very well let the kids go alone now, can we?”

That, Alec cannot argue with. Letting Max and Rafael go into that horrific mob is something he won’t even consider as an option—even if the two of them are capable teenagers and can navigate their way among the hundreds of people better than he can.

But he continues to sulkily scowl like the mature man he is, silently taking in the entirety of the stadium in front of him. Various stalls are set up around it, selling everything from keychains to posters to albums. Even the weather seems to be waiting for the event with bated breath, clouds stuck unmoving in the sky and the breeze ever so gentle—perfect for a concert, he is reminded constantly.

Alec chances a glance at his husband, in all the purple, vibrant and sparkling magnificence he’s chosen to grace the world with today. He sees his soft smile, his glamoured eyes roaming and drinking everything in, and how relaxed his shoulders are set. And Alec thinks of how at home Magnus would feel in a place like this. He thinks of how things like these—music and art and dance and words and fashion, and just about anything that can express—must have been his warlock’s one constant in centuries of life.

The scowl slips away into a soft, fond smile.

 _Everything_ is colourful here.

The throngs of people buzz with excitement, while random someones yell out incomprehensible things whenever they feel like it and are responded with affirming screams from the others. It all feels very cult-like, as Alec constantly theorises.

“Oh, Raziel help me,” Max mutters under his breath, squeezing his face between his palms. “I feel like I’m in heaven. I could just sneak into the—”

“No,” Alec says firmly, because goddammit, he is not about to spend his day trying to bail his family out of dumb police stations, thank you. Max pouts. “Just no.”

Rafael is ahead of them, having explicitly stated that he has important businesses to attend to and cannot afford to be delayed. Alec is pretty sure that he’s gone to take pictures with the life-sized cut-outs by the entrance of the stadium. If he isn’t back in five minutes, Alec will have to assume that his elder son has kidnapped the standees and run for it, choosing a life as a fugitive of mundane law.

“Which ones do you want, Blueberry?” Magnus ruffles his son’s hair, subtly trying to feel the horns without having Max tell him off—he _absolutely_ dislikes having his horns cooed over. Magnus inclines his head toward the stalls and raises his eyebrows in question.

“You mean, we can buy merch too?”

“Of course!” Leaning down to his son’s height and lowering his voice to a whisper, Magnus adds something else. Something that the teenager finds highly amusing and the Nephilim father highly alarming.

Giggling, Max grabs Magnus’s shirt (though Alec prides himself on being well-knowledgeable in all the inside jokes his family partake in, he still does not know why the picture of a jar of jam brings forth such hysterical giggles from all the kids they have walked past) and whispers something back.

The Shadowhunter is not ashamed to say that he is mortified at the identical smirks the two of them wear when they straighten up, whistling cheerfully and acting as though they weren’t just planning someone’s—his, most probably—demise.

“Okay, everyone, don’t panic. I’m back,” Rafe calls out as he walks back toward them, looking pleased and putting his phone back into his acorn pouch.

“So, you’re going to get four light sticks.” Alec pulls out a wallet and digs into it for the money. “Then whatever merch you two are gonna buy.”

“Darling,” Magnus gasps, sounding mortally betrayed, “what about _me_?”

With a fond rolling of the eyes, Alec hands out a few more bills.

Magnus looks upon him critically.

Alec just hands him the wallet.

“Good thinking.”

“Oh fuck, they have the Bluetooth A.R.M.Y. bomb,” says Rafe suddenly, thoroughly dramatic. “All my dreams have come true.”

Max’s eyes grow wide as he follows his brother’s line of sight. “Fuck,” he repeats.

Alec twitches nervously. Sure, his children hardly ever swear and this is an exceptionally emotional day for them, so the occasional curse word or two is to be expected and should be given no mind. But he still feels the need to do something about it, instead of gaping like a fish out of water.

 _They’re teenagers_ , he reminds himself. _Of course, they use the word ‘fuck’._

“Alexander,” Magnus says importantly, “we have to be off before someone runs off with our lightsticks.”

“Yeah, uh, good luck in the crowd.”

Magnus leans toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and trailing a hand down Alec’s back to grab at his ass teasingly. Alec narrows his eyes, contemplating shaking his finger at his husband.

“Thank you, darling.”

Max clears his throat, looking away and trying to pretend that he has no relation or connection whatsoever to the two of them.

“Less groping, more bopping,” Rafe announces solemnly. He then seizes his brother’s arm and marches away.With a glittery wink and a shit-eating grin, Magnus follows after them.

“DAECHWITA!” A shout cuts through the air like a battle cry and almost every single person around Alec repeats the word with enthusiasm, their heads bouncing forward and back maniacally.

_Not a cult, my ass._

Quickly taking out his phone, Alec sends a text to his husband.

[

Me (05:39 pm): don’t forget the plushies for jace and clary

Magnus (05:40 pm): I was under the impression that the plushies were for their kids?

Me (05:40 pm): they’re lying

Me (05:40 pm): they steal all the plushies we get for the babies

Magnus (05:40 pm): Ah

Me (05:41 pm): it’s a conspiracy

Me (05:41 pm): just like how nobody here can admit that this concert is actually a cult meeting

Me (05:42 pm): it’s a conspiracy

Magnus (05:42 pm): …

Magnus (05:42 pm): Okay, then

]

* * *

Ten minutes later finds the Shadowhunter scrolling through his phone in boredom, trying to find something to do while his family buys every single damn thing on sale.

“Hello,” someone says behind him, sounding too nice for grumpy Alec. He isn’t sure if he ought to wait in place or join the shopping spree and, at least, avoid awkward social interactions. Like this one will undoubtedly be.

He wonders if he has enough time to glamour himself.

Alas, he doesn’t.

Alec glances at the person and quickly says, “I’m taken.” He holds up his ring finger, proud of himself.

The girl looks amused. “I play for the other team, don’t worry.”

Alec frowns. “Isn’t this a concert, though?”

“Um—”

“You must have the day wrong, don’t worry. There’s a concert today, so your...” Alec trails off, pondering. “Wait—what game do you play?”

The girl opens her mouth as if to say something, tilts her head to the side in confusion, and then closes it. “I’m not here to hit on you,” she says finally. “I’m gay. _Very_ gay.”

“Oh, so am I!”

Grinning, the girl continues, “I just came here to tell you that your jacket is nice.”

Alec looks down at the said clothing and back to her. “Oh.”

“I mean, it must be so cool to have your parents being just as excited as you to go to a concert.” She beams excitedly, clearly trying to sweet-talk him into joining the cult. “Like, it’s the one of the best dreams an A.R.M.Y. can hope for.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” the stranger says merrily. “And thank you, for being an awesome human being.”

Alec blinks.

“Stay gold,” she downright instructs him, veiling it with her cheery disposition, and walks away.

He blinks again.

Alec promptly remembers his husband’s hand and teasing fingers, leaving behind a suspicious warmth that could have only been his magic. Muttering a few profanities, Alec snaps a picture of his back. He holds the screen at an odd angle and reads the words flashing and glimmering over the back of his hoodie.

‘MY KIDS LOVE BTS AND SO DO I.’

_Oh, you absolute dorks._

* * *

When the time to get inside the stadium has come, the family gathers at the entrance, stepping inside with brimming eagerness. The man at the entrance gives Alec a very odd look, not sure if he should let the Shadowhunter pass or not—well, it isn’t like it’s Alec’s fault that the adamas of his stele and his concealed seraph blades fuck up the mundane-metal-scanning thing. None of them anticipated it, but before either of the warlocks can resort to drastic measures, Alec is sent through and they heave a sigh—one of relief from Alec, who is happy that he doesn’t have to end up at a police station after all, and one of disappointment from Max, who was looking forward to doing something extremely dramatic (like, maybe, ending up at a police station.)

The interior of the stadium doesn’t disappoint in the slightest; it is every bit as grand and as intimidating as it is on the outside. Alec can’t even imagine himself performing in a place as ginormous as this; can’t imagine how it must be to have so many eyes on him, and his respect for the performers increases exponentially.

Lights shine all around, showering the way to the seats with a warm glow alongside the evening sunlight. The people who were waiting for this all day (and all night, possibly) trickle into the stadium eagerly, and the seats begin filling up.

The stage is at the end of the arena, and pathways make their way from it to the centre to form a smaller platform there. Rows of seats rise from the ground, towering over them all like a shield from the outside world and Alec can almost believe that this is another reality altogether. Soft beats play across the stadium while they wait.

Alec makes to step up onto the first flight of stairs that he can spot when he is all but pulled back by the hood that is attached to his jacket, and made to continue on the way that very obviously leads right up to the stage.

“What?” he manages, to Rafe who holds him in a tight grip.

“So that you don’t run away on us,” the boy explains, loosening his hold slightly when Alec provides him with an incredulous look.

“ _What_?”

“Er—” Rafe promptly speeds up, dragging Alec along. “Here, Papa,” he says, shoving Alec into the warlock’s waiting arms, “you tell him.”

Before Alec can protest to being treated like a human volleyball (he is fairly certain that this is how it is played), however, Rafael takes Max’s hand and runs off toward the front of the arena, where Alec is sure that he’ll be confronted with the reason as to why they are continuing on this dangerous path.

“Care to explain?” he asks Magnus, who is busy brushing the non-existent dust off the front of Alec’s hoodie. They walk at a slower pace than the kids, but still fast enough for Alec to be suspicious.

“Explain what?” Magnus asks innocently.

“Y’know, why we aren’t going up to the seats? Why you’re practically dragging me to the front of the stadium? I swear to the Angel, if you three try sneaking into the backstage and scare those poor men out of their wits, I’ll ground you all for a year.”

A deep sigh is pulled out of Magnus’s chest, a sure sign that he is about to give in, as he brings his hands up to gesture vaguely. “We’re going to the pit,” he says.

“The deepest pit of hell?”

It prompts a grin. “Nice one.”

Alec inclines his head to the side. “Thank you very much. Now, what pit?”

Magnus points with deep-purple-painted fingers to the area around the stage that Alec notices is segregated by several crowd control barriers.

“Ah, right,” he says faintly. “We’re, uh, going there for what?”

Magnus grimaces. “Well, that’s where we’re supposed to remain for the entirety of the concert.”

“You mean, like, standing there?”

“Not just standing, no. It is recommended that you jump along with the crowd so that you don’t get trampled under enthusiastic feet.”

“Ah.”

Magnus looks at him worriedly. “Are you okay, darling?”

They have almost reached the ‘pit’ by now, where Max and Rafe are socialising—Alec shudders a little at the thought—with other people as if they have known them all their lives.

 _A cult, indeed_ , a smug voice that enjoys being right sings in his mind.

 _Shut up for a minute_ , he tells it.

“I’m okay,” Alec says, and with a jolt, he turns urgently to Magnus. “You’ll be with me, won’t you?”

“Of course!” Magnus says brightly, smiling. “You’re okay with this, then? Because if not, you only need to say the word, Alexander, and I’ll promptly whisk you away to safety.”

“My hero,” Alec says drily, the slight panic he had ebbing away with every step he takes. And then, “What—what will you do if it gets uncomfortable?”

Alec notes how he and Magnus are walking away from their kids, and to the other side of the stage, directly opposite them. He concludes that the children are to stand on their own, with as less parental supervision as Magnus and Alec would be comfortable with. Strangely, he finds that he isn’t too disconcerted.

“Look up, my Shadowhunter, and be astounded,” says Magnus, grinning in the way that Alec has come to call the ‘Mad Scientist’ grin.

Eyes wide with slight terror, Alec tilts his head back. And somewhere among the clouds, he spots it—a big, bulbous shape that makes Alec relive horrific memories. The wind shifts at that moment, blowing the clouds apart, and the object of his nightmares becomes even clearer to the eye. It just sits there in the sky—aided by Magnus’s magic, no doubt—, its swollen canvas glinting innocently, and a cute basket swinging underneath.

A hot-air balloon.

If some cosmic power decides to provide background effects and plays a few chords of ominous music right then, the Shadowhunter isn’t going to be surprised.

“Nope,” Alec says firmly. “Nope, nope and no. Just no.”

Stepping in beside Magnus, he squeezes past a barrier and settles into the space within.

Magnus twists his lips into a pout worthy of his High Warlock title. “But you haven’t even seen the changes I’ve made to it yet. It’s practically invincible now.”

Alec snorts. “Love, as far as I know, you’ve been on hot-air balloons a total of two times—and I’m pretty sure that Marie Antoinette would have killed you if her dress had allowed for it.”

Magnus grumbles using words of dead languages, looking up to cast a longing glance at his chariot of Hell. Alec presses a kiss to his cheek to appease him.

* * *

[

Rafe (06:56 pm): papa ok there?

Me (06:56 pm): ??

Rafe (06:56 pm): maxie and i can see him swearing

Rafe (06:57 pm): ohHHH

Rafe (06:57 pm): u saw the balloon didnt u? u said no? 🙀

Me (06:57 pm): you’re all grounded

Rafe (06:57 pm): daaaaaaaaddddd!!!!!

Me (06:58 pm): under no circumstances are you or your brother to be within an inch of that godforsaken thing

Rafe (06:58 pm): fr?

Me (06:59 pm): do you want to revisit the grounding?

Rafe (06:59 pm): nvm

Rafe (07:00 pm): u dont mean like all our lives do u? just today right?

Rafe (07:01 pm): daaaaaaaad????

Me (07:03 pm): hush now, the concert’s about to start

Rafe (07:03 pm): u arent getting outta this. WE SHALL FIGHT TO THE END

Max (07:03 pm): HECK YEAHHHHHH, WE WILL

Magnus (07:04 pm): And, yes, that rule shall be enforced for today. Because may I remind you that the reason behind its very existence is purely romantic and is meant to woo your father?

Me (07:05 pm): ??????

Me (07:05 pm): by the fucking angel

Rafe (07:06 pm): *le gasp*

Rafe (07:06 pm): BLASPHEMY!!!

Me (07:08 pm): grounded~~

Max (07:08pm): Fuck

Me (07:08 pm): double-grounded, then

Max (07:09 pm): Papa, is that a thing??

Rafe (07:09 pm): theyre smooching, maxie. they arent gonna be answering anytime soon 💀💀💀

Max (07:10 pm): Oh for fucks sake

Me (07:10 pm): triple-grounded…and an extra hour of training for anyone who fills the family gc with anymore swear words. only i can do that

Max (07:10 pm): PAPA, YOUR HUBBY IS SCARING US!!

]

A crowd steadily forms around them both, pressing in, though it does not feel as claustrophobic as Alec was afraid of. The people are, thankfully, respectful enough of boundaries.

He shivers a little in the cool air that grows thick with anticipation and Magnus places a hand on the small of his back, the gesture familiar and relaxing. Alec leans back into his husband’s warmth, taking in a deep breath.

“Still good?” Magnus asks, worry lacing in the edge of his tone, undetectable to those who do not know him. And for all his teasing and banter, and all his attempts to court the man he’s married to, Magnus remains a concerned husband and father, always. Alec loves him so much.

“Good,” he replies, smiling warmly.

“Papa!” they hear Max yelling. The younger warlock knows that his Dad is too much of an over-thinker and is generally a nice guy who can’t bring himself to shout around in public. So, he calls to Magnus for both of their attention.

Alec and Magnus give him questioning looks.

“ _Smile_.”

A flash from across blinds them both for a moment and then the two boys crowd over Max’s phone to check the picture. They snicker delightedly. Alec is only a tiny bit afraid of how it’s turned out.

“They better not send that to the Herondale or I’m grounding them myself,” Magnus says, resolute and solemn. Alec grins, just about to make a witty comment that he’s incredibly proud of when his voice gets drowned out by another: “A.R.M.Y., ARE YOU READY?”

 _Ah, here we go_.

Alec quickly ducks his head and drops it against Magnus’s shoulder, one arm covering his ears as best as it can, while he tries to look unoffending enough for the ardent fans. Their screams reverberate through his chest as Magnus wraps a hand around him.

Sharp lines of colourful light leap and jump over the entire stadium while a thumping bass takes form beneath their feet. The screams grow louder, and all Alec can do with the rational part of his brain is to think of how the mundane audio system must be truly miraculous if it can be heard through this sea of yells and cries.

The fanchant begins with rhythm to the song—always a spectacle to be admired—and Alec can find himself getting lost in the familiar, yet unfamiliar sounds. He doesn’t feel entirely out of place; merely, a bit odd, as if he isn’t in the very world where he has to kill demons every day. It’s—nice. Nice to forget for a while.

“ _Rain be pouring; sky keep falling; every day, oh, na na na_.”

Every move of the performers’ bodies—every twist and shift and sharp slide—goes hand in hand with the constant thump-thump-thump that creeps into his bones. It sends delicious adrenaline coursing through his body and his Nephilim heart pumps gleefully, eager to run faster than it has to, just because.

Alec is a Lightwood for a reason (when Simon dubbed him Alexander Gideon Lightweight, Alec almost disowned his brother-in-law because of how true it was), and he knows precisely how much alcohol he can hold. Turns out, being in a concert feels strangely similar to being drunk, and Alec Lightwood is a very embarrassing drunk.

 _I’m whooping_ , he realises belatedly. Which is a weird thought. A thought he would have never thought he would have.

Then, _Magnus is whooping with me too_. And by the Angel, that is another weird altogether.

To see him freely shouting and singing along and even jumping gets Alec’s nerves heated up.

 _I love you so much_ , he thinks, winding his arm around Magnus’s waist. Magnus turns for the briefest moment, brushing his lips against Alec’s to return the gesture. Then he’s back in the air again.

As physics loves to fuck with life, bringing their body masses together this way means that if Magnus jumps, Alec has to too.

Not a strand of Magnus’s hair falls out of place.

Alec is envious of hair gel for the first time in his life when his hair bounces like some sort of manic cuttlefish.

“Lightsticks!” Magnus says in his ear during a brief respite from their hopping session.

“YEAH!” Alec yells back, enthusiastically, though he has no idea what he is enthused for. After he finally realises what his husband has said, he tells him, “They’re safe, don’t worry.”

“Darling, we’re supposed to use them.”

“ _Now_?” Alec kind of assumed that the things were a sort of souvenir. Or maybe, night lamps.

Magnus gives him an overly besotted look; Alec realises that he was, possibly, incorrect. “You’re so fucking adorable,” he says, sighing dreamily.

Alec allows himself a moment to blink incredulously and then, reaches into the fanny-pack-like bag that is slung around his waist to retrieve their two lightsticks from within.

“Er,” he says, handing one to Magnus. “Now what?”

Magnus quirks a fond, amused smile. A hand dips into the air above, the rounded end of the stick glowing with a pulsing, cheerful light as it dances to the beats; it reminds Alec of a paintbrush held in a pretty hand, made to colour its dark canvas of air in elegant, experienced strokes. Only then does he notice the ocean of blues and purples that the entire arena is bathed in, synchronised waves of colours sweeping over them all while the Shadowhunter has eyes for his one man.

“Now we go crazy.”

* * *

Alec isn’t sure which song they’re on or how long it has been (if he was having alcohol, he wouldn’t have known which drink he would be on, either). All he knows is that he’s immensely grateful for whichever brain cells of his had the presence of mind to remind him to activate his Speak in Tongues Rune beforehand. Maybe he needs to learn Korean too—like his kids.

“How are you all this fine evening?” the member— _RM_ , Alec nods to himself—asks, his voice an echoing rumble that is given a happy scream by way of an answer. He smiles, pushes his glasses up his nose, and lets his eyes travel further through the crowd.

“You know,” he begins; a small debacle consisting of water bottles goes on behind his back, unbeknownst to him. Alec is sure that the poor man is about to get drenched if the looks on the younger ones’ (and also, the eldest’s) faces are anything to go by. “When I woke up today—”

He pauses, eyes stilling, and his lips are tugged slightly apart in a gape that is very much not a dramatic effect. He’s actually staring down at something in the crowd. The whole arena waits patiently for him to continue.

As Alec follows his gaze out of pure curiosity, he manages not to jerk too horribly in his surprise.

“Darling,” he says in an undertone, gently grabbing hold of Magnus’s elbow. “Your glamour’s down.”

Magnus doesn’t seem to be aware of it. Or rather, not surprised by it. He’s doing it on purpose, then. “Alexander, I can’t seem to spot Rafael—”

“Magnus,” Alec hisses, tightening his grip and trying to point out the man on the stage who is gazing at them intently. “Look up.”

“Oh.”

Brown slides smoothly over his yellow-green, leaving nothing behind except for confusion on the idol’s face.

A beat later, the man appears to shake himself mentally, and he goes on as if nothing happened at all. Three bottles of water are then bestowed upon him, a kind offering of his beloved bandmates. Alec called it.

“Rafe?” he asks quietly.

Magnus squints in the dark; _so that’s why he opted for his cat eyes_. “He’s—” the warlock lets out a triumphant sound. “He’s there, right behind— _oh_. I swear Alexander, one of these days, our sons are going to turn my hair grey.”

Alec regards his husband sceptically, even as the panicking part of his brain soothes itself with reassurances that his children are, in fact, very capable fighters and can protect themselves. He whispers incredulously, “You’re immortal.”

“Exactly, my sweet Shadowhunter.”

The rest of the night, Alec keeps a close watch on his husband and makes sure that they do not arouse any more suspicions than they have to.

Mundane concerts are incredibly exhilarating, Alec discovers, within an hour or so of screaming his heart out and still having the energy to jump. Unfortunately enough, he gets soaked by the half of it, amidst much excitement and something akin to reverence from the others around him. He sees someone with big drops of water rolling down their face, crying out, “Oh, Hobi water!” Alec doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Concerts are also incredibly interesting. Alec is sure that one of the bodyguards that he sees making rounds around the stage—finger pressed against their ear and a pair of menacing sunglasses perched on their nose—is a Seelie.

“EVERYBODY, MAKE SOME NOISE!”

Not even a second passes before thousands of screams split the air, eager to fulfil the request, and Alec makes out two specific silhouettes in the dark adding to the cacophony. He watches in awe at the two teenagers, at their shining faces which stand out among all others. They look so happy. And Alec can feel his own happiness gushing and tumbling out his heart while he struggles to grasp the fact that those two souls are his children—his and Magnus’s. By the angel, he is so fucking _proud_.

“Look at them.” Alec’s request sounds breathless, and as he always does, Magnus listens. “They’re glowing.”

Magnus smiles secretively, as though he knows something Alec doesn’t. “I see them,” he says and tugs Alec closer, fingers twisting through Alec’s empty belt loops—it isn’t like he needs a belt anyway.

(And all this while, the stadium’s speakers blare with music, the numerous people around them promptly losing their mind at the displays of glorious grace and power that take hold of the stage—‘Dionysus’ if Alec remembers correctly, and he does. A favourite of Magnus’s, and a very, very beloved favourite of Alec’s; his High Warlock wielding a staff is just something else.)

“Magnus,” Alec glances at his husband, feeling too much, and he’s worried that his words aren’t enough to make himself understood. “Magnus, they used to be so small.”

“I know,” his husband replies, still smiling that smile of his.

“Well, they’re still small, but—” and it feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else, so he turns back to Magnus. “They’ve grown, Magnus. They— _oh my god_ —Magnus, they aren’t our babies anymore.”

The words feel foreign and heavy on his tongue. Alec supposes that it’s the first time that he has come to this conclusion, no matter how long it feels like the fact has been right in front of him, glaringly obvious and a bit painful to accept.

“They have grown,” Magnus concedes with a small nod. “But they shall also always be our little ones.”

Alec blinks. Perhaps he was expecting a lecture on how, as parents, they’re supposed to let go once Max and Rafael are adults. That they’re supposed to get over it, let them be, and other advice of the sort.

“My Alexander,” Magnus says gently, fondly, leaning close to deliver a kiss in Alec’s hair. He looks positively divine in the low light, his glittery ensemble catching the beams and refracting them everywhere. Alec only now notices that the music has filtered out, sounding almost like it’s muffled, and he realises that Magnus has cast some sort of spell around them—a literal sense of ‘being in their own little world’. Alec is grateful for it.

“Love, they’re our children. They aren’t ours to own, but they are a part of us, always.” Magnus kisses him again, and adds quietly, “And we, them.”

Alec inhales a sharp breath and lets it out deeply, contemplating. He needed that.

“They—do you think they’ll stay?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus admits, the slightest of uncertainties shaking his firm voice for a millisecond. Alec leans against him, enclosing the precious man with his arms; he hadn’t considered that this would make Magnus feel just as much as it does Alec. He should have. “But if they wish to leave, I hope they realise that I’m always there for them—that I am honoured to be a constant they can look to.”

Alec understands Magnus’s little, knowing smile now. He’s smiling the same way. “And I stand with you, always. I stand with you all.”

There is barely a hair’s breadth between them; Magnus steps closer. He nuzzles against Alec, humming contently—he never admits the universally-accepted fact that it sounds like a purr—, as a minute passes and their cuddling urges become sated enough for the magical bubble to be burst. Right as they untangle their arms, sound reaches them, like breaking out of the water to have one’s ears popped in the air they left behind.

Alec focuses on the stage promptly to see the seven members twisting and taking their place on chairs placed high, regal in their stance and quietly panting with exhaustion.

Only a few minutes later, they’re back at it again.

 _It’s a solo_ , Alec figures, when six of them leave the stage in mysterious mist and the one who is left disappears among a throng of support dancers—probably for a quick wardrobe change. Magnus adores those parts. Alec adores Magnus.

When the concert picks up its pace again, the deep, Latino-feeling melody—it quite sounds like it is being strummed to existence on a stringed instrument, in Alec’s unprofessional opinion—that rings out gets nearly drowned by the euphoric cries rising from almost every throat in the stadium. Adjusting the little microphone fitted over his mouth, the man who is the object of the screams walks out his cocoon, singing with a confidence that reminds Alec eerily of his parabatai and wearing a small smirk that “drives the world and all its living beings positively crazy” (his kids’ words, not his).

The Nephilim is about to go ‘screw it,’ and join in on all the chaotic noise when he zeroes in on what the idol is wearing. He scrambles around in his thoughts because surely Alec can remember that outfit—a gleaming, rich, burgundy-coloured attire that he has definitely come upon before.

His brain picks around in its folders, bringing up a few jigsaw puzzle pieces in the form of hazy memories that he desperately tries to place together to get the realisation to hit him.

A small shift next to him turns Alec’s attention toward his husband.

As he looks on at him, it hits like a jolt—the memory of a night when Magnus was dressed in the very same wardrobe and teased him to a metaphoric death, shimmering like a celestial, and the very definition of ‘Tall, Dark, and Handsome.’

“ _No_ way.”

Someone to the left coughs loudly.

“No fucking way,” Alec continues, unperturbed, because he can’t actually believe it. “Don’t tell me that you stole his suits? The suits that he uses for his performance? Magnus, he’s so innocent—” Out of the corner of his eye, Alec catches the man— _Jimin_ , his mind supplies happily—providing his frankly thirsty audience with not-so-innocent body rolls. “Magnus, _how could you_?”

“I’m not that cruel, Alexander,” Magnus tells him lightly, seemingly prepared for Alec’s outburst. “I was merely inspired. Nothing more.”

Alec looks at him disbelievingly.

“Besides,” he continues, in that same airy tone, “it isn’t as though you were complaining at the time.”

“By the fucking angel.”

Somewhere, up above or wherever Heaven is, Raziel must be cursing his decision to have ever come upon Jonathan Shadowhunter.

* * *

“Oh my gods,” Max whisper-yells hours later when the arena is devoid of any soul other than them (or so they think). “This is the best day ever.”

The warlock is currently laid down on the middle of the stage under an orb of light that Magnus conjured up, his limbs spread out like a starfish and his glamour completely forgotten. He begins making snow angels with the confetti (a confetti-angel?) as he heaves a content sigh and nudges his brother with a foot to join him. Rafael is a bit too busy gazing longingly at the entity that hovers close to notice.

Alec’s knuckles are whiter than normal while he holds onto the wall of the basket behind him for dear life. “If this thing goes any farther up, I’m jumping out of here,” he vows loudly. As it is, they’re only a few feet up in the air, but Alec wants his voice heard while he still he has it.

Magnus shakes his head with a fondly frustrated huff. He continues fiddling with the ropes and the unnamed buttons and knobs on the burner as he faces Alec. “It was one time, Alexander. I insist that it shall never happen again.”

“Damn right, it won’t, because we are _not_ going any further up.”

With a tinkling laugh, Magnus twists his fingers in an elaborate twirl, the little motions ceasing in blue sparks. The balloon sways and comes to a stop.

“Papa, Dad!” Rafael calls from below. “I think it’s going to rain!”

Alec clears his throat and shouts back, his voice carrying over to the ground, “Rafael Lightwood-Bane, you are not going to get on this hot-air balloon today, so stop trying.”

“Darling,” says Magnus thoughtfully, taking in a breath of warm air, “I think he’s right.”

Alec blinks, momentarily taken aback. “Uh—” There is a movement that he catches at the corner of his eye.

He turns and leans over, grip tightening on the wood. Max is running from one end of the stage to the other, arms thrown behind him and blue hair flying in all directions. Rafe is standing in a corner, waving two hands at the balloon haphazardly as though he is landing a plane.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Naruto-running,” Max replies loudly, skidding to a halt beside his brother. He throws a glance at him and adds, “Not Rafe, though. Rafe is attempting to imitate a flightless bird—a flightless bird that does not know it’s flightless.”

The boy scoffs, arms falling to his side limply. “I was just trying to catch their attention.” He looks up, eyes narrowed, and scowls. “But if our parents weren’t so busy canoodling together, they might have taken notice.”

“Hey!” Alec protests, because that’s what he had been trying to do, but apparently, Magnus loves his stupid balloon too much to pay attention to the husband he promised to woo. “I took notice, didn’t I?”

“It’s literally gonna rain!” Rafael screams for the world to hear, cupping his hands over his mouth. “ _Rain_ , Dad. Do you not care about your precious children? Are you going to leave them out here under the wrath of the sky, with nothing to shelter them?”

Grumbling, Alec turns to Magnus. Who watches on, grinning, leaned against the tiny wall, as casual as you please.

“Is it?” he asks, his voice bordering on a growl.

“Is it what?” Magnus throws back at him, his fingers tripping up Alec’s torso slyly.

As pleasant as the attention—finally—is, Alec catches Magnus’s hand where it lingers dangerously on his collar bone, and asks again, less gruffly, “Is it going to rain?”

Magnus hums, wriggling out of the grip and pressing close to Alec. He places a kiss at the underside of his jaw, and murmurs, “Use that angel-blessed nose of yours and take in a breath, Shadowhunter.”

Alec just about manages not to shudder. Before Magnus has to tell him again, he inhales deeply and his mouth abruptly falls open into an ‘o’.

“There’s some kind of earthy smell,” he mumbles when Magnus gives him an inquiring nip. “It’s nice.”

He feels his husband smiling wide, as he says matter-of-factly, “I believe the term for it is ‘petrichor’, my little Nephilim. Going by how strong the scent is, I’d say that it’s been raining somewhere close. And if the wind continues to remain this way—” As if to make sure that even nature does not dispute Magnus’s claims, a strong gust of wind blows the balloon a few inches off— “then the chances of rain in the vicinity are very likely.”

“Oh, okay.” After a pause, “So it’s going to rain?”

“ _My dear fathers_?” Rafe calls tentatively in Spanish, his voice pitched low. That alone is enough to get their whole attention because when their elder son breaks out in his mother tongue, it either means he’s awfully overwhelmed or needs to convey something discreetly. “ _Look_.”

They hear, rather than see, people making their way toward the stage from a distance away. And as quick as lightning, Max opens up a Portal and shoves his brother into it, both of them tumbling into the basket next to Alec and Magnus.

Between a few curses, some pained hisses whenever one of them steps on another’s toe, and the glamours that are thrown quickly upon themselves and the balloon, they manage to settle down.

A bright laugh is followed by a small group stepping out of the shadows, the lights around the stage turning on in their wake; one of them holds a video-camera and looks like it is their life’s mission to film the others.

As one, Rafael and Max gasp. “ _No_ ,” they say, sharing a look and grinning. Fortunately, the balloon is far enough from the ground, that one can not hear what they say unless they shout it. And also, fortunately, the people below talk in extremely boisterous tones and can be heard very clearly from where the Lightwood-Banes are.

If Alec is reading his children’s excitement right, it can only mean one thing: those men down there are also the very men they saw on the stage today.

Max stifles a giggle. And Alec becomes well aware of the fact that if they slip up, the entire Shadow World can become compromised, and that the Clave, being the bunch of pissy bastards they are, is very well able of stooping to the level of kidnapping a famous boyband and making them Ascend into Shadowhunters to keep their secret hidden.

_Well, shit._

“ _Everyone, we’re here to search for Yoongi hyung’s ring!_ ” one of the members informs to the camera, pleasant-voiced, as their Korean always sounds.

Max holds himself back once more, barely.

“ _Yeah_ ,” another adds. “ _He was jumping so hard during ‘Ugh!’ that it fell off_.” The ring-less man brings a hand up to his face, shying away from the camera.

“ _An accident_ ,” he says, voice muffled. “ _The staff are so cruel to me_.”

Alec’s thumb finds his ring finger to check for the small weight of his wedding ring at the base of it. Thank the Angel; he’d been hopping like a maniac too.

“ _Hey! I think I found it!_ ”

The group crowds around the man who claims to have found the ring, and then a collective sigh rises from them.

“ _Suga hyung’s ring doesn’t have a black stone in it, Taehyung-ah_.” He groans in a petulant and, yet, professional manner that Alec thinks even his husband must be impressed. “ _And here I thought we would finish our mission before dinner_.”

Magnus murmurs a low ‘shit,’ and Alec realises that his husband has also been subjected to the same crisis.

“Fell off while you were jumping?” Alec questions, smiling wryly.

“I believe so.” Then, “Do you think they would notice—”

“Yes,” Alec interrupts quickly because that is a dangerous, dangerous thought. “Magnus, you are not going to summon the ring right out of their hand.”

Magnus pouts.

“ _Our A.R.M.Y.s have a very good taste, though_ ,” the man who picked the ring up says, twirling the thing around in his palm and then pocketing it. “ _Hyung, remind me to ask them whose it is on Twitter, won’t you?_ ”

Max and Rafe both dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

Alec is at a loss for words.

It goes on like that for a while, with the band members walking around the stage and on it, in search of the elusive ring. The poor camera-person follows them with an admirable devotion to their job, balancing the huge camera in their arms and making sure to film a healthy amount of all the members’ giggly selves and their introspective musings about the types of ramen.

“Seriously,” Alec says, something of a huff escaping him, “do they expect them to actually find the ring?”

“They found Papa’s.” Rafe looks absolutely smug at that.

“Still,” he presses because he really wants to go home at a reasonable time. And he also oddly wants to see the man’s ring safe. Alec may be becoming increasingly demented.

Max hums, tapping a finger against his chin. “Well…”

“Yes?”

“We could find it for them—discreetly, of course—and then, maybe, you know—” Max makes a frantic gesture with his hands as he looks up at Alec with something akin to hopefulness.

Alec nods once. That is a good plan. That is a firm plan. His husband can execute that plan.

He turns to him, with the request on the tip of his tongue. Magnus narrows his pupils to slits in retaliation.

“I am not allowed to summon my own ring back,” the warlock states, crossing his arms and adding a touch of haughtiness to his voice. “Is it acceptable, Consul Lightwood-Bane, that I can, however, summon theirs?”

“Not fair, I agree.” Alec leans in and pecks his warlock’s cheek for good measure. Magnus’s feline eyes widen for a moment, glinting with surprise in the dark. Then he settles into a sulky half-pout; he was probably hoping that Alec might negotiate a deal which would involve him getting his ring back. That is nothing but a dream, however.

Alec wraps an arm around his younger son’s shoulders. “How would you like to do it, Maxie? I trust that Professor Fell has taught you well in finding stuff?”

Max’s blue eyes light up as though a thousand fireworks have gone off in the sky they’re suspended in.

Magnus’s scowl grows further. “Just because he’s a professor,” he mutters darkly. “The peapod doesn’t even have a doctorate.”

Rafael catches onto his poor father’s mood and pats his arm soothingly. “I know, Papa,” he tells him while Magnus continues grumbling, “I know.”

Redirecting his gaze to the smaller warlock at his side, Alec grins. “You can do it, right, baby?” Alec knows that he can, anyhow, but he makes sure all the same.

His son’s eyes are screwed shut in fierce concentration, focus completely on the task at hand. “Pfft,” he says, mock offended. “Come on, Dad. This is—” A small violet flame takes shape on his open palm, whirling and crackling while growing brighter, and then it abruptly disperses to leave behind a certain metallic object that catches dim light in his hand. “Easy,” Max breathes, something so wholly open in the wide smile that takes over his features. He touches the ring with his other hand softly, almost reverently.

“I did it,” he says, quiet and satisfied. Alec swoops low and kisses the tip of his right horn.

“Well, of course, you did!” exclaims Rafe and claps a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Damn, I wish we could keep it, though.” He pokes the ring along with Max, inspecting it like it holds the key to the secrets of the Universe. Alec is sure that neither of his sons’ copies of the Gray Book has ever been given this much attention.

“That was wonderful, my Blueberry,” Magnus says gleefully and kisses the other horn, his sulking all but forgotten ( _for the moment_ , Alec reminds himself with a mental wince).

The ring is relatively small, though its thickness makes up for it. It looks like silver, with simple patterns curling around the entire rim of it, and sits heavily in Max’s little palm. Bending his head over it along with the three others, Alec sees a ‘7’ that is hidden among the dancing lines.

“Huh.”

Another spark comes to existence, and when it disappears, so does the ring.

A shout sounds excitedly from below. Then, it rains.

* * *

And if, tomorrow, Alec sets up a Twitter account for the sole purpose of getting his husband’s ring back from a millionaire (who is currently asking the whole world if said ring is Gucci), then the only one who has to know is the Chairman; his judgemental stare is enough for Alec to understand that he does not like being used as Alec’s password in literally everything.


End file.
